


Theseus Died Alone (And So Too Shall I)

by since_I_saw_vienna



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dream & Wilbur are mentioned, Emotional Manipulation, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28322451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/since_I_saw_vienna/pseuds/since_I_saw_vienna
Summary: Tommy isn't doing great in exhile.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 1
Kudos: 138





	Theseus Died Alone (And So Too Shall I)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written when Tommy was still out in exhile,, and is mostly unedited and probably not great but shh let me project please
> 
> Also I made a whole ass alt for mcyt content I hate it here .

Tommy was tired. 

It wasn't the pleasant ache of a long day of work, not the faint burn of his muscles. In fact, he'd barely moved all day. He'd slept far more than he'd been awake. And still, Tommy was tired. 

It was a cold kind of exhaustion. It did not make him feel warm and sluggish, instead it froze him solid. It was a tiredness that settled into his bones. His fingertips felt numb and his legs were so unfairly heavy. 

It wasn't just in body, either. His mind felt foggy as he stirred on the brink of awareness. Was he awake? He could barely tell anymore. The distant sensation of hunger curled in his gut suggested he was. Tommy doesn't move. He doesn't even know if he has any food, really. He might have run out yesterday. Or was it a few days ago? He couldn't bring himself to remember. He'd stopped counting the weeks after the second month. He'd stopped paying attention to the days after he started sleeping through them. 

Tommy wondered, faintly, where Ghostbur had gone. He hadn't seen the ghost in a while. It was usually him who shook him awake and gently tucked a piece of bread into his hands to make him eat. Maybe he'd finally left, too. The thought sent a dull spike of pain then his chest, but he couldn't really feel it. He didn't feel much of anything anymore. Not even the cut that was open on his leg, bleeding hastily staunched by his bandana wound tightly around it. He'd needed Ghostbur to tighten it for him, his fingers oddly uncooperative and his arms unable to pull hard enough. 

He wished it was drier in Logstedshire. It rained at least once a week, his tent unable to keep out the downpour. In the earlier months he'd take refuge in Ghostbur's house, hauling his bed out of the rain. Tommy didn't much like Logstedshire when Ghostbur wasn't there. He doubted he'd be able to carry his bed there anyway. Not that he wanted to, Tommy really didn't want to move. Even when the rain soaked through his rags and settled into the paper-thin mattress. He was always damp now. Not that he really minded, though. The rain was warm and washed away the dirt caked into his skin. He couldn't bring himself to walk to the sea anymore. Not when L'manberg lay on the other side of it. 

He hadn't seen Dream in a while either, oddly enough. He didn't make Tommy eat when he came, though. Tommy told himself it was because Dream believed him when he said he'd already eaten. Because Dream cared about him, right? If he knew Tommy wasn't eating, he'd ask him to. He didn't make Tommy get out of bed, either. Once Tommy had stopped gathering resources he hadn't really cared. He just came and watched him for a little while as he slept or laid there, though even these visits grew scarcer. Maybe he was just busy.

Everyone else was busy, too. They hadn't come to see him. He tried to figure out when the last time anyone had visited him was, but he couldn't really think straight. It had to have been two weeks, at least. It had been Dream last time. Of course it had been Dream, Dream was his best friend. His only friend. 

Tommy tried to remember when the last time anyone but Dream or Ghostbur had come to see him, but abandoned the train of thought when it made his head hurt. Keeping track was so tiring. He rolled into his side but winced when he felt his ribs poke at his arm. Tommy knew he was wasting away, but it was far too late now to stop. His limbs were too heavy to move. He didn't really think he wanted to stop, anyway. 

He'd caught a fever, a few days earlier. His fragile frame shook so powerfully it almost made him feel warm, but there was no body weight to keep it in. He went from feeling so, so cold to being blindingly warm. He ached but could not move, damp with sweat and rainwater. He just stripped off the ratty blanket and heaved over the side of his bed before collapsing in a heap once more. He tasted salt and bile and his throat was so impossibly dry. He needed water. Tommy closed his eyes and went to sleep instead. 

When he woke, it was raining again. His lips curled into a little smile as the rain soaked through his tent and wicked away the heat of his fever, washing away the salt and the dirt again. He opened his mouth and wet his throat, eyes sliding shut. Tommy came to like the rain. 

(Distantly, he remembered that he used to like the rain then, too. He remembered shoving Tubbo into the mud and laughing as Techno chased Wilbur into a puddle as Phil called after them. He wondered when he had stopped liking the rain.)

(He stopped liking the rain when there was no longer anyone to share it with.)


End file.
